<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Crash Into Me by nervoussis</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955961">Crash Into Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis'>nervoussis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Billy says the F word a couple of times, Coming Out, Dad!Steve, If you're a TERF fuck off, M/M, Middle Aged!Harringrove, Other, Starting Over, Trans Daughter, drinking buddies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:55:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're practically geriatric, pretty boy."</p><p>And Steve tried not to flush at the old nick-name, but. Some things never change.</p><p>Billy grinned. "Twenty five years is a long time to waste."</p><p>"It wasn't wasted." Steve thought of his kids. "My girls are the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, besides you."</p><p>Billy slammed on the breaks.</p><p>"Did we hit something?" </p><p>(or) the Middle!Aged Harringrove fic nobody asked for.</p><p>To everyone who is out and proud--to everyone who wants to but isn't ready yet--to those who are out, but only with their closest friends--to everyone who is (sort of) out, but doesn't know where they fall on the spectrum: I see you, bitch. And I love you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Minor Robin Buckley/Heather Holloway - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crash Into Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not sure what this is but I hope you enjoy it anyway lol &lt;3</p><p>Pair this one with:<br/>I Want to Break Free, by Queen</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was scared shitless first time they bought it up, and that was saying something because Steve Harrington had fought monsters, alright?</p><p>It was his job. For twenty years he had been the babysitter; the first line of defense against everything from papercuts to predators and Steve was <em>good</em> at carrying other people's burdens. When Robin came out to him he rolled with the punches. Sat on the floor with her and laughed about it because Steve knew what it felt like to be on both sides of the bullshit. Bigot and bisexual, forever at odds with himself.</p><p>Heather came along during their second year of college and fell to pieces in a way neither of them were equipped to handle. She met Robin in their Women's and Gender Studies class first semester of sophomore year and that had been it; she came out to her parents over Thanksgiving break and had to be picked up from her house at three in the morning. Steve lived closest so she stayed with him in his big, empty house until classes started up again. Moping around in sock feet. Broken like a glass butterfly, left in shards on the floor of Robin's apartment from the disownment at the hands of her family and Steve had no choice but to offer a broad shoulder to cry on.</p><p>He had played both roles, after all, the bigot and the bisexual. </p><p>And then he met Billy, who was like a Hurricane in a harbor. Out and proud he was something none of them had encountered before, the midwestern lot of them; brash, ready to pick a fight with anyone who made him feel less than for <em>likin' to suck a dick every once in a while, </em>and soon enough grew protective of their little rag-tag group of LGBT outcasts when some frat guy tried to slip a tablet of <em>something </em>into Heather's drink at a party.</p><p>Steve and Billy fought three football players that night, tooth and nail, until Steve came away with a broken nose and a split lip. Billy held a beer up to his eye, blue sparkling against brown, and Steve thought for the first time in his life--I would do anything to kiss those lips just once.</p><p><em>Three faggots and a straight boy, </em>Billy said affectionately, <em>anybody has a problem they can take it up with me.</em></p><p>And Steve felt like he was a part of that equation, on both sides of the issue yet again. Billy would protect the girls and so would Steve--use his straight boy privilege to ensure they made it out of their twenties in one piece.</p><p>He never told anyone he wasn't straight. </p><p>He'd seen the way Heather's parents still didn't talk to her, even after ten years.</p><p>Had seen the black eye Billy got after his dad showed up on campus to find him locking lips with Lenny Markson one lazy Saturday morning in their apartment. All in all? He was afraid. And maybe that made him a coward, but at the end of the day it made him smart.</p><p>So Steve fought monsters. Both interdimensional and interpersonal for <em>years.</em> For decades as the world changed around him; as Heather and Robin moved in together. As Billy settled and resettled again with any guy who would deal with his attitude, and Steve was happy.</p><p>Content.</p><p><em>Bored,</em> married to a patient woman. Settled with his house in the suburbs, his kids, his six figure job. Steve had everything in life he thought he wanted until his daughter and son became two daughters. </p><p>Until Henry became Poppy.</p><p>His daughter's bravery gave Steve the courage to dream of more.</p><p>Of Billy. </p><p>--</p><p>They drank together a couple times a month, when Billy was in town and Steve wasn't trying to watch his figure.</p><p>In recent years he'd gotten a little obsessed with eating completely organic and only drinking when it was absolutely necessary but anytime Billy was near it was necessary to have a couple. Even after forty years the guy lived every day like it was his last and Steve wished he could be like that. The life of the party.</p><p>They met at <em>Luckies, </em>the only bar in Chicago that still allowed smoking in the front section, and Steve ordered a water to start. He wanted to be present. <em>Sober, </em>for this.</p><p>It was too important.</p><p>Billy just laughed, "Jesus Christ, princess, we're in our fifties and you're worried about keeping your hourglass shape?" Billy lit a cigarette, passing it to Steve after the first few hits. He regarded him warily, "Sure you aren't a fag?"</p><p>"Nobody says that anymore, Bills. And besides," Steve raised his glass in a toast. "Not all of us can work going soft in the middle."</p><p>And it was true. Where muscle used to live unbridled on Billy's stocky frame he had gone soft with age. Not fat, not blubbery, just. More. Steve preferred it to the cut muscle because more of Billy was never a bad thing, and he got it.</p><p>More phone numbers from younger twinks.</p><p>More longing stares from middle aged moms.</p><p>Billy went from looking like a oiled up sex machine who would fuck and run to an oiled up sex machine that wanted to take you to the farmers market. Rub your feet, run you a hot bath, and Steve understood the appeal. Hell he was probably Billy's target demographic.</p><p>Middle aged twinks with an identity crisis, or something.</p><p>"Come on, baby, you can have a couple, right? Thought we were supposed to be celebrating your divorce." Billy leaned forward, elbows resting heavy on the mahogany countertop and Steve couldn't lie to that face.</p><p>Those blue eyes that had followed him for forty years.</p><p>"We are, it's just." <em>I'm in love with you, asshole. I've been in love with you since college I was just too pussy to admit it. </em>"Gotta drive home later."</p><p>"Fuckin' bullshit, just crash at mine."</p><p>"At your <em>hotel?" </em>Steve tried not to drip frigid, midwestern upper-class disapproval and failed. "You always pick the shittiest--"</p><p>Billy poked his nose. "Alright, honey, here's the deal. You have a few beers with me and I'll drive you to your castle on the hill, alright?"</p><p>Steve blinked. "Is this just an excuse to get me alone?"</p><p>It was something they had been doing for years. Flirting, almost-but-not-quite seriously, trying to see who could make the other blush first.</p><p>Billy cracked, a pretty pink blush flooding his cheeks. He shrugged. "Let's just say my midlife crisis has been treating me very well."</p><p>"Billy." Steve deadpanned.</p><p>He grinned.</p><p>"William Stewart Hargrove, did you buy a dick machine?" </p><p>Billy cackled, his hyena laugh lighting Steve up from the inside. "I got a new car. Well. New to me."</p><p>"What's it look like?" Steve asked warily. </p><p>Billy winked. "An old friend."</p><p>And. </p><p>That could only mean one thing. Steve waved the bartender over and ordered three shots.</p><p>--</p><p>The Camaro sat like a vision from the past. Perfect, sleek under the neon light from the bar sign, and as Billy revved the engine Steve was instantly transported to 1985. Their freshman year at college, their weekend excursions to the city when the endless parade of exams and responsibilities became too much.</p><p>Billy looked beautiful, behind the wheel of the thing. The familiar blue paint bringing out the blue in his eyes as he swung the door open.</p><p>"Whadya think, Harrington?" </p><p>"I think--" Steve grinned, running a hand through his hair. "You're insane. Absolutely insane, you know when you come at Christmas Leia is going to freak, right?"</p><p>His kids had always loved Billy's car when they were little. Steve's wife had an aneurism the first time they strapped the toddlers into the backseat and took them camping for the weekend, insistent that <em>hot rods and three year old's don't mix, </em>but he couldn't say no.</p><p>Not to the kids.</p><p>And not to Billy, when he stuck his bottom lip out and insisted that <em>Uncle Billy will drive nice and slow.</em></p><p>He hadn't. Steve's kids loved the shit out of him, and. The feeling was mutual.</p><p>Billy shrugged his shoulders. "Figured she could take it for a spin if she wants. Kid's old enough now, right? Might even let the pair of 'em take it to the lake some weekend."</p><p>"Neither of my kids can drive," Steve said distantly. He ran his hand along the hood, blown away by how <em>familiar </em>it was. </p><p>"Gays who can't drive, what a shocker." Billy chuckled, his throat closing around fondness for the brats. He made a noise of approval. "Shall we?"</p><p>Steve climbed in the passenger seat, clicking on his seatbelt and cinching it against his midsection because he <em>knew </em>how Billy drove. </p><p>Like a hell demon.</p><p>Like he was first car in a race.</p><p>Billy winked as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, sharing a cigarette as the lights passed overhead. The five shots he'd had at the bar were finally taking effect, making everything look pretty and pale under the moonlight. Steve tried not to stare at the way the moon still glinted on Billy's curls.</p><p>The way he looked like he was carved from the stuff of dreams, for Christ-sake.</p><p>Billy stole a glance at him, smiling softly. "How you holding up?"</p><p>"I don't know what you mean?" </p><p>"Your divorce, you know," Billy's voice was thick with something Steve couldn't quite place. "Big change, so late in life."</p><p>Steve chuckled. "Shut up, you asshole, we're just getting started."</p><p>"You're practically geriatric, pretty boy."</p><p>And Steve tried not to flush at the old nick-name, but.</p><p>Some things never change.</p><p>He grinned. "Annie and I, we." Steve took a pull from the cigarette, passing it over as Billy took the exit toward his house in the suburbs. "We were never in love. I think I spent a long time doing what I thought I wanted without actually stopping to make sure of it, you know?"</p><p>The car sunk into thick, unrelenting darkness as the Camaro pulled onto the dirt road leading toward town. This was always Steve's favorite stretch, especially on nights when the moon was full and the trees stood out like brail against a slate of stone.</p><p>Billy nodded. "Twenty five years is a long time to waste."</p><p>"It wasn't wasted." Steve thought of his kids. "My girls are the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, besides you."</p><p>Billy slammed on the breaks.</p><p>"Did we hit something?" Steve looked around wildly, rolling the window down to check for animals. He turned to stare at Billy, to check for, something. Anything, but.</p><p>Billy was staring at him like Steve had hauled off to hit him without warning.</p><p>"Bills?" </p><p>"Is this some kinda prank?"</p><p>Which. "Huh?"</p><p>Billy shook his head. "Why the fuck would you say that?" His voice was shaking. Really, actually shaking like he might cry and Steve wasn't really equipped to deal with Billy's particular brand of sadness. Which always included more rage than tears, but.</p><p>He blinked. "Say what?"</p><p><em>"Fuck, </em>Steve, that." Billy slammed his fist on the steering wheel, speaking in a rush so the words slurred together into one long sentence. "That I'm one of the best--"</p><p>"Because it's true." Steve said simply.</p><p>Billy turned to stare at him. Hope and fear and anger and love warring in his pretty blue eyes. "If this is some kinda joke--"</p><p>"I'm not, it's not. I'm." Steve undid his seatbelt because he had to be closer. To make Billy <em>understand </em>that; "I've been. Billy, for thirty years I. God, I just love--"</p><p>"Stevie--"</p><p>"I love you, Billy." Steve felt tears swamp his vision so suddenly he was left in tatters. "I'm in love with you."</p><p>Billy laughed. Low and mean. "Bullshit."</p><p>"'S not--"</p><p>"I know you, Harrington. We've been friends for a long time." Billy scrubbed a hand across his mouth, pointing with fury written across his face. "You're straight."</p><p>Steve exploded.</p><p>"I'm not straight, Billy. Just because none of you ever stopped to ask me about it, just because you made assumption after fucking assumption"</p><p>"Shut--"</p><p>"Three faggots and a straight boy, remember?" Steve sighed. "I've been in love with you for years. Like a fucking fool, just. Never loved anyone but you."</p><p>It was quiet. So deadly silent as they stared at each other, as Billy took his time in slicing Steve open right down the middle. </p><p>"You mean it?" He whispered.</p><p>"Yes, you asshole." Steve tripped over himself to get the words out. "I'm. Bisexual, I think. Or gay for you or fucking something--"</p><p>"Can I kiss you?"</p><p>Steve had to play it back. "You. You wanna kiss me?"</p><p>Billy shrugged again. "It's about thirty years overdue, so."</p><p>He tasted like beer. And reds, leather and lace and thirty years of rain clearing up by a single ray of sunlight.</p><p>Steve felt himself coming back together.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaah drabbles. Thanks for reading this garbage!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>